Bill worked in a pickle factory. He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day and confessed to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer.

His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill indicated that he'd be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.

One day a few weeks later, Bill came home absolutely ashen. His wife could see at once that something was seriously wrong.

"What's wrong, Bill?" she asked.

"Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?"

"Oh, Bill, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"My God, Bill, what happened?"

"Both she and I got fired."

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When only the police have guns, it's called a police state.
-- Bumper Sticker
http://members.tripod.com/~Bob_Baloo/index.htm

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-You are crazy.
-I thought I was pisces.

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"Obesity. Adiposity. Corpulence. Whatever word you use, it represents one thing: being a big fatass."

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Death before Dishonor!
However Dishonor has
quite a disputed defintion.